He did remember that, at the end, was the gateway leading
to the Chiaramonti Museum. He went on, often pressing his hand against
the wall, against the tombstones. Suddenly he became aware that what he
was touching was neither marble nor stone. Gently, he beat upon the wall
with his fist. It was wood--a door! Involuntarily he stopped and waited.
He heard a step behind the door; a key turned in the lock; a blade of
light slanted across the Gallery and broadened; a black figure appeared;
the priest who had abandoned Benedetto on the stairs! He came out,
moving rapidly, closed the door behind him, and said to Benedetto, as if
nothing strange had taken place:
"You are about to find yourself in the presence of His Holiness."
He signed to Benedetto to enter, and again closed the door, he himself
remaining outside.
On entering, Benedetto could distinguish only a small table, a little
lamp with a green shade, and a white figure seated behind the table,
and, facing him. He sank upon his knees.
The white figure stretched out its arm, and said: "Rise.
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